


Lateral Stresses

by glassonion_archivist



Category: Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-16
Updated: 2004-01-16
Packaged: 2019-06-19 10:45:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15508305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassonion_archivist/pseuds/glassonion_archivist
Summary: Tim's zen. Dick isn't.





	Lateral Stresses

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Glass Onion](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Glass_Onion), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Glass Onion’s collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/glassonion/profile).

Lateral Stresses

## Lateral Stresses

### by Te

Lateral Stresses  
by Te  
January 16, 2004 

Disclaimers: Not mine. Though I'd probably dress them just as gay. 

Spoilers: None, really. Assume this takes place in current Robin and Nightwing canon. 

Summary: Tim's zen. Dick's not. 

Ratings Note: NC-17. 

Author's Note: I'm blaming my subconscious for this one. 

Acknowledgments: To Livia and Jack for audiencing and encouragement. Jack also gave me a title. 

Feedback: Mm-hmm. 

* 

Dick pulls a Zesti out of the fridge for Tim and a bottle of water for himself. There are beers, and one would be nice -- it's hot enough that Bludhaven stinks more than usual these days -- but Gannon's not due over until Sunday. 

No reason to pretend he's anything he's not until then, at least, and it's not like the beer will do anything good for his _body_. 

And... ouch. 

He wonders when Tim's going to stop sucking down the carbonated sugar water and switch to something like Gatorade. From there, it's a slippery slope to bottled water and a fridge full of fresh vegetables, and honestly, should they really be doing this to _another_ kid? 

He grins to himself and heads back into his living room, where the kid in question would look perfectly normal -- clothes four sizes too big for him, TV remote in hand -- were it not for the fact that he was _also_ reading Dick's Shooter's Bible even while flipping through the channels. 

And, okay, that stuff is _interesting_ , and more illicit than porn could ever be, considering, and... fuck. "Heads up, kid." 

Tim drops the remote and puts a hand up for the carefully tossed can, not looking away from the book. 

It may already be too late. 

Dick turns off the television as he walks into the room -- 

"Hey, I was listening to that --" 

And removes the book full of tasty, sexy, deadly weaponry from Tim's hand. 

"And _reading_ that." The glare is impressive. 

His is still better. But, subtlety is key. Right. "You can watch TV and read at _home_ , Tim." 

"You're feeling needy, aren't you? Come talk to Uncle Tim." Tim's smirk may, in fact, be better than his. Dammit. 

"No, I'm feeling _curious_. There's a small but desperately important difference." 

Tim gives him the I'm-patiently-waiting-for-you-tostop -being-an-asshole look. 

Dick rolls his eyes and drops into the chair across from him. But... how _do_ you go about asking a guy how his Bat-related anal-retentiveness is coming along? He looks at Tim. 

"Aw, man, this isn't going to be one of those serious talks, is it? Because I swear to God, my angst is at normal, baseline teenaged levels." 

"Yeah, but do you have another girlfriend, yet?" 

" _What_?" 

"It's Friday night. You're on a designated night _off_. And you're here." 

"Oh, for Christ's -- I _have_ a social life. I'm getting together with some of the other kids on Sunday --" 

"For a study session." 

" _And_ I'm going to a dance next weekend. An actual dance. With people. Happy?" 

And, okay, that's not _bad_ , but... "No girlfriend?" 

Tim glares at him. "I've got at least a few more months before my also-designated grieving period is over." 

"No more than two, and that's not the point. I mean, seriously Tim, you ought to at least be actively avoiding a _specific_ person." 

"Okay, see, this is what _I_ don't get. What's the point?" 

"The _point_? Didn't Bruce have that talk with you? The one with --" 

"The really helpful photographs, diagrams, and list of approved websites?" He waves a hand. "Yeah, years ago. I have, actually, achieved puberty, asshole." 

Dick makes himself look nice and sincere. "And you'll hit that growth spurt _any_ day now, I promise." 

"You know, I _have_ my staff in my bag." 

"You'll never get to it." 

"You're assuming I'd try to use that _first_." 

There's a coffee table that would probably survive anything they did, but the Zesti can is probably still at least half-full and the blinds are open... Dick and Tim share a look. Not right now. 

"Anyway, yeah, like I was saying, I don't really get the whole girlfriend thing." 

"What's to _get_? Curves, Tim. _Curves_." 

"And I can appreciate that. I'm a red-blooded American male, and I can freely admit to my firm belief that breasts are a wonderful idea, _but_." 

"But _what_?" 

Tim finishes off his soda and wings the can at the recycle bin in the corner. It almost bounces out. 

"Ooh, weak." 

"Fuck you, you need to empty that thing out more than once a month. But think about it. When do I have _time_ for a girlfriend?" 

"This is what _I'm_ saying --" 

"Uh, huh. And how many free nights a week did _you_ have, Mr. Founding-Member-Of-The-Titans? And hell, at least you _lived_ with Bruce. I'm technically supposed to show up at my house every _night_." 

"But --" 

"And let's assume that I come up with someone who a) isn't a criminal, b) doesn't have more issues than, like, hair accessories, and c) is someone who Bruce _and_ my Dad _and_ Dana approve of." 

"It's not _that_ hard --" 

"This is me, not commenting on the bleak _wreckage_ that is your love life, Dick, but okay. Let's _further_ assume that this paragon of feminine virtue doesn't mind the fact that I've got time to see her maybe once a week, and will also put up with me periodically running out on our dates, hanging up on her, and otherwise being Not There at all, because I'm Robin." 

"Okay, I admit, that part's hard." 

"Oh, that's big of you. Really fucking _huge_. So, we've got the Nice Girl. We've got the Nice Girl who's apparently a freaking _doormat_ , or possibly just brain-dead, because sooner or later? The sex thing." 

"You can't _possibly_ come up with a reason why sex is bad." 

"Hey, I'm willing to admit that billions of human beings probably aren't wrong --" 

"Wait, you're still a _virgin_?" 

Tim glares at him. "Would you _listen_ to me?" 

"I'm listening, I'm listening. Go on." 

"Okay --" 

"Aren't you sixteen? And, yeah, you're small, but you're --" 

"There's grass on the damned infield, jerkoff, now pay attention." 

Grass on the... "Oh, that's wrong." 

Tim isn't _quite_ snickering, but he's getting there. "I try. Here's the deal. The deal _breaker_. Because, yeah, lots of things an enterprising young man and his girlfriend can get up to." 

"Good things. Really. You should --" 

"Shut up. Because see, eventually? They want you to take your clothes off." And he sits back and folds his arms and generally looks like he's just passed down wisdom from on high that Dick is supposed to automatically _get_. 

"Um. You _do_ know that breasts are even better --" 

"I'm not talking about _her_ body, jackass, I'm talking about _mine_. And no, don't even start, this isn't even _remotely_ about insecurity. It's about the _scars_. And the bruises, and the recent stitches and... Jesus Christ, if I move around too much I'll be bleeding from somewhere right _now_." 

Dick blinks. Thinks about it. How _had_ he...? "Skiing accident. Skateboarding accident. You --" 

"Walked into a door? See, look, there are ways around it, and a particularly forgiving or, again, CLUELESS girl would let me get me away with it, but... fucking A, man. It's just not worth it." 

"So what you're saying is that you've completely given up on getting laid because it's _inconvenient_?" 

"Not _completely_. I mean, not forever or anything like that. I figure I'll have a little more room when I get to college, you know? But right now?" He gestures, vaguely. "All I need." 

Dick nods slowly. Takes another swallow of water. 

"Admit it, I'm totally right about this." 

"You _do_ realize that you're even more fucked up than Bruce, right? I mean, this has occurred to you, hasn't it?" 

Tim laughs at him. "What, because I'm practical? Admit it, your life is ten times easier when you're not dancing around some woman than when you are." 

"It's not _about_ easier. It's about --" 

"Kissing, touching, sucking, fucking. Yeah, I get it. I have an active and varied fantasy life. And hey, it's not like I'll be eighty tomorrow or something. If it makes it easier for you, you can just pretend I'm saving it for my wedding night." 

"You're honestly trying to make _me_ feel better. Tim, what the fuck?" 

"C'mon, Dick, that's what this is _really_ about, right? You looked at me or thought about Bruce or whatever and suddenly you were thinking about how narrow and anal _you_ are, and decided it was time to be Big Brother Nightwing to poor, mistreated Robin because _you're_ a good guy and so you have to save me. 

"Or else you aren't such a good guy, right?" 

Dick stares at him. Tim couldn't look more smug if he _tried_. 

And Tim just nods like the conversation is over, and reaches for the remote. 

Dick keeps staring. And... thinking about it. Because, yeah, Tim has a point. This _was_ , at least in part, about his own issues and worries and _issues_. He's not blind -- he knows when he's getting a little neurotic. 

And yet. 

Here's this guy, this _kid_ , sitting on _his_ couch, feeling full of himself because he'd discovered the zen of abstinence or some bullshit like that. Feeling _superior_ , because hey, it's not like he was one of those lowly, needy types, right? 

Little _bastard_. 

Really, it's almost awe-inspiring. 

But mostly... 

Tim glances at him between channel-flips. "What?" 

"Just thinking." Dick knows his voice is a little too low. 

"About...?" The barest hint of suspicion. Nowhere near enough. 

"Sucking you off." 

Tim blinks. 

Dick smirks and leans back in the chair, throwing his arm along the back and spreading his legs. 

Tim breaks and gasps out laughter. "Oh, dude, you're good. I thought --" 

"That I was serious?" He purrs it out slow. "I am." 

"You wanna suck my dick. To prove a point." Tim's expression is stuck between a gape and a smirk. "And _I'm_ the one who's fucked up?" 

Dick slides his free hand between his legs and gives himself a squeeze. The blood's prickling hot beneath his skin, like maybe he'd be a little flushed if he looked in a mirror. He's not hard. Yet. "I never said I wasn't." 

Tim nods slowly, mouth shut again in that slightly off way that means he's probably running his tongue along his teeth or something. "This is a dare." 

"More like a challenge. Up to it?" 

"Hey, I _said_ I still had needs and everything. I'm not a freaking _robot_ \--" 

"You're hard right now, right? You're really, really happy you wore those jeans." 

Tim narrows his eyes at him. He can look pretty dangerous. For a kid. 

"You're thinking about what it would be like. My mouth on you." 

Tim doesn't move, or even shift. But he's still as stone, and that tells Dick _all_ he needs to know. 

"I'm not your girlfriend, Tim. You don't have to take _me_ home." 

And it's all over his face. Wondering if this is where he apologizes, or makes a joke, or maybe just calls Dick's bluff -- and wondering if it _is_ a bluff, and what he's supposed to do if it isn't. 

Dick smirks a little wider. Tim _hates_ not being able to make a decision. And it fucking _kills_ him when he can't read people. 

And yeah. _Now_ he's hard. 

"C'mon, kid. Make a decision." 

The snarl is on and off Tim's face _almost_ fast enough to miss. 

"Or maybe you just can't take it." 

"You need. So. Much. Therapy." 

"You're wondering how fast you can get out of here with your dignity intact. Your _image_. I bet you don't even make it to the roof before your pants are around your --" 

"Do it." 

Dick's heart thuds painfully hard, and he hears himself suck a breath in through his teeth. And _then_ Tim moves, standing up and yanking his belt open and his zipper down. 

He's hard enough already that his boxers are tented, and there's a nice-looking little wet spot. 

Dick waits until Tim's fingers are under the waistband. "Leave those on." 

He stills, and shoots Dick a look. 

Yeah. Now. He stands up and steps over the coffee table and rests his palm against the center of Tim's chest. Gives him a little push. 

There's a wonderfully _wary_ look on Tim's face that Dick can't _wait_ to validate, but he sits down, jeans puddled around his ankles and legs spread. 

Dick kneels and slides his hands up Tim's thighs, digging his thumbs in a little and spreading them wider. Holding his gaze and rubbing small circles until Tim starts to breathe harder. 

Faster. 

This is going to be much too easy. 

Good. 

"Nobody ever touch you here, Tim?" 

Tim just stares. 

"Or is it that no one's ever touched you like _this_?" Dick slides his hands up higher, bunching up the right leg of the boxers and sliding under the left. "Mm. _I_ like the way this feels. What about you?" 

"Dick --" 

"See, what you're not getting -- what you've _utterly_ failed to get, is just what I can do to you _long_ before I get my lips wrapped around your dick." 

Tim makes a little hurt sound, face crumpling with that old, familiar mix of do-me and oh-fuck before he manages to even it out again. 

"But maybe I should be nice about it." He leans in close enough to breathe hot against the tent in Tim's boxers. "I'm a good guy," he says, looking up. "Right?" 

"Jesus, Dick --" Tim's biting his lip now. 

He slides his right hand back slow, pushing a little with his fingertips until Tim jerks and shakes, just for a moment. "How bad do you want it?" And pushes his left hand _in_ , twisting past the fabric to pet Tim's sac. "You can tell me." 

Dick watches sweat break out on Tim's forehead and keeps petting. 

"Wide and varied fantasy life, right? So you _must_ have thought about someone's hand wrapped around your balls, right? Squeezing just hard enough to --" 

"Please." 

It makes _his_ dick twitch, lust and surprise rolling through his gut in a wave. Virgin. _Such_ a virgin. "You ready for me?" 

Tim shakes harder under his hands, gasping like he's trying to hold in something loud and damning. Something like real pain. 

And for a moment it's tempting as hell to just make him come in his pants _exactly_ like the teenager he is, and for more reason than just his wounded ego, but... another time. Not Tim's _first_. He pulls back just long enough to get Tim's dick out of his boxers, wrapping one hand around the base and getting his lips around the head _before_ he starts playing with his balls in earnest. 

He gets one good taste and one good _suck_ before Tim arches off the couch -- 

" _Fuck_ \--" 

And comes in his mouth, digging his fingers into the cushions and shouting wordless at the ceiling. 

Dick swallows and lets him go, licking his lips and enjoying the sight of Tim sprawled out on his couch like the end of a particularly good orgy. He stands up -- 

And falls right down on _top_ of Tim when he hooks Dick's legs out from under him. 

"No. You just... _no_ \--" 

Tim cuts himself off by kissing Dick awkwardly as he rolls him down to the couch. Lips on his chin and teeth on the line of his jaw, teeth on his lower lip and _then_ Tim kisses his mouth, groaning into it and tearing at his pants. Growling when he fails to get them open one-handed, and then Tim's moving, kneeling up and working on Dick's fly with grim determination. 

Dick laughs helplessly. "No, go ahead, get your own back, kid --" 

Tim glares at him and Dick laughs even harder. _Right_ up until Tim licks his hand and wraps it around him. 

"Oh _man_ , Tim --" 

"Shut up." Fingers on his nipple, twisting _much_ too hard, sending jagged flares of feeling all through him as Tim pumps and strokes and -- 

"Fuck --" 

"Shut _up_ \--" And Tim's leaning in and kissing him again, straddling the leg that isn't half-off the couch and jerking him hard, and there's nothing to do but go with it. 

He slides his hands into Tim's hair and angles them for a deeper kiss, thrusting into Tim's fist and doing some groaning of his own. 

Tim breaks the kiss and gasps against his mouth. His eyes are still wide and shocky, but his lips are red and swollen and pressed into a tight line. 

Dick lays back and takes it, and even just thinking that is enough to drive him higher. Because Tim would just... 

He slips his hand out of Tim's hair and reaches up and back, stretching out and clenching his hands together, wishing he was naked and knowing it's good _enough_ when Tim loses his rhythm and stares at the way Dick's t-shirt is pulling tight over his chest, face twisting into a scowl. 

And Dick _knows_ Tim's getting hard again, and that's gonna make him smirk just as soon... " _Harder_." 

And it's probably just the tone of voice, but Tim doesn't even hesitate, pinching Dick's nipple and _working_ his dick, and then it's just the feeling, good enough for it to be anyone, and even better because it's Tim. 

_Making_ Dick come because he _has_ to. 

For himself. 

"Mm," he says, when he's done gasping. He stretches and shifts into a more comfortable position, and watches Tim stare at his own hands like they belong to someone else. "You okay?" 

Tim frowns, mostly to himself, and wipes his sticky hand on Dick's t-shirt. Thoroughly. And scoots back to the other end of the couch. 

Dick winces internally. "Tim?" 

"See, what's killing me is that _all_ you've done is ensure that I'm going to be as fucked up as the rest of you people." 

Which is... okay, true. Still. "Worth it, though, right?" 

Tim _has_ to have learned that withering look from Alfred. It's a lot less believable when it comes from someone whose dick you've had in your mouth. 

Dick decides to examine that revelation... pretty much never. He puts on his best grin. 

Tim gives up on the glare and kicks him. "You're on the remote, asshole." 

He hands it over graciously and relaxes. 

Tim's got maybe ten minutes before the new erection becomes just as important as the old. 

Dick can wait. 

end. 

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Te


End file.
